Tatiana Talks

Show of hands: Growing up, who asked their
parents for this phone? Keep 'em up if you got it.

Guys. I think I’ve been pretty helpful over the past
couple of weeks – show of hands, how many of you took my advice about
Valentine’s Day.All four of you? That’s
what I thought. So, now I’m going to ask you to help me solve one of the great
riddles that has perplexed women since Alexander Graham Bell first asked Mr.
Watson, “Can you hear me now?”

Why do you ask for our phone numbers and then never call?

Now, because this is something I have been researching
extensively for the past 20 years or so, I will tell you, I understand in some
instances it is a play to get in the panties. You’re out, you’re talking to a
woman you wanna bang and in an effort to close the deal, you ask for her phone
number, hoping she will take this to mean you aren’t just looking for sex and
will take you home to make the beast with two backs.

And for every time that has worked for you, I say
well-played, sir.

However, why ask for the phone number the next morning? Is
it to spare her feelings? To make her feel less cheap? What about weeks later,
when you happen to bump into her but haven’t seen or heard from her since the
night and everything seems okay? Why ask then?

I’m asking for a friend.

Okay. I’m asking for me.

As predicted, I ran into Miller Lite (the dude I closed
the book on 2012 with) recently. Now, before that moment, I barely attempted to
cyberstalk him, I didn’t call or email our mutual friends to fish for details
about him, nor did I attempt to gain an invite (or crash) any happy hours they
planned. After all, it was a one-night stand and I was fine with that.

The moment the bump-in happened, I was perfectly content
doing the polite thing and pretending I didn’t even know who he was. But then
he initiated contact. We laughed about the awkwardness and how funny it was we
hadn’t run into each other sooner and just as I was ready to walk away, glad
the initial meeting was over, he asked for my number.

You know, so we could maybe get a drink some time.

And then, he. Never. Called.

Sure, I’m not looking for a relationship, nor do I want
one. But I can’t help that I’m a girl. And so, yes. I obsessively checked my
phone for the week that followed. Friday morning, I shaved my legs and wore an extra-cute outfit just in case a last minute happy hour invitation arrived.

But it never did. So what the hell is the point of getting
my number in the first place? Seriously. I’m asking.